The Thorn Veil
by babygray
Summary: The Decay has begun to spread beyond the borders of the Northern Wastes. James must now escort his son through the wilds and Wastes to stop the Decay at the source. Sirius still believes a one good stab would do the trick. Harry has a different plan altogether. (High Fantasy AU, Snarry main pairing)
1. Chapter 1

_Note:_ I've been working on a few mismatched stories lately. This, I feel, is a bit of all those mismatched ideas forming yet another story that I really wanted to write. Somehow, this is the one that got finished first. This is very rough, as I'm playing around with the idea of just writing and not thinking too hard about making it perfect.

_Pairings_: Snarry. Maybe implied James/Sirius, maybe implied Sirius/Remus in a later chapter. Past James/Lily, implied? Snape/Lily in a later chapter.

* * *

The summons had come just before midday. A servant boy in a porter's tunic and gardener's boots rushed down the grounds to the barracks, his red hair a beacon in a sea of brown earth, green forest, and grey stonework. "Master Potter," he said above the sound of whetstone on steel.

James glanced up from his work, his hands still moving as he sharpened his sword. "Ah, Ron." He smiled at his son's friend. The Weasley boy was as lanky as a bean pole and covered with freckles. "Looking for your brothers?"

"No, sir," Ron said. He held out a note, folded over twice and sealed with a drop of dark wax. "This is from Lord Dumbledore for you, sir."

"Oh?" James set the whetstone to the side and took the note. He tugged it open, the parchment soft in his calloused hands. "Did he want a reply?"

"He didn't say, sir."

James read the missive. The words were written in smooth, unhurried lines. "Well, he didn't seem to think he needed one."

_We have come to a possible solution_, it read._ Meet us in the red drawing room at two._

He folded the note and slipped it into his shirt. He squinted up at the boy. "Have you seen Harry about, then?"

"No, sir. He's been with Mistress McGonagall all morning."

"Well, no matter," James said. He picked up the whetstone and got back to work. "If you see him, let him know I want to talk to him."

* * *

James had expected to see his son at the midday meal, perhaps breaking bread with the Weasley brothers or tucked away with the group of scholars in the castle's Great Hall. Harry, however, never showed his face.

"He's probably too busy with McGonagall to remember to eat," Sirius reasoned as he helped James into a clean wool coat, utterly ignoring his own dirty tunic and ragged hose. "It's not healthy, spending all that time indoors."

"Maybe while we're here, you can coax him into practicing his swordplay," James said. He put on his sword belt, the scabbard hanging empty against his thigh. "He's always enjoyed that. That is, if you can pull him away from his books."

"I blame that Granger girl," Sirius said, holding out James's sword. "Always going on about whatever bit of nonsense she's read lately."

"Come off it, you know you like the girl." James shook his head. "It's Lily's spirit that shines through him." He slid the sword into the scabbard. "He might have my looks, but he also has her disposition."

"And her smarts," Sirius said. "The gods know you're no scholar."

James chuckled. "Will you come with me to this meeting?"

"How can I not?" Sirius said. "Dumbledore can always throw me out if he didn't want me there, but I don't see why he would bother."

* * *

The two knights walked side by side up the corridors to the southern tower. The warmth of the spring day had begun to penetrate the cool, dark halls. There was a taste of spring in the air.

Sirius absentmindedly flashed a smile at a passing alchemist. "What do you think this meeting is about?" he asked. "The Decay?"

"No question," James said. "Word from the north is, it's spread down to Lochdarmara. Half of their crops withered away on the vine overnight."

"Lochdarmara is quite far from here."

"But at this rate," James said, "the Decay will reach our borders by the end of summer. And even if it never reaches us, we're still duty-bound to stop it."

"Oh, no question," he said, his smile full of sharp white teeth. "We shouldn't have had let it go on for this long in the first place."

"Let's see if the lord thinks the same as we do," James said.

The red drawing room, with its hidden entrance, warm red hangings, and comforting, circular design, had been a favorite haunt of James in his youth. He pulled open the portrait of the Fat Lady and bowed deeply to his compatriot. "Lord Black," he drawled, scraping his fingertips on the floor. Sirius swiped at James's head. They entered the drawing room together, laughing.

Harry was standing by one of the small, narrow windows that look out to the forest. He turned at the sound of their laughter and gave them a queasy-looking smile.

James was struck by how tall his son had become. It seemed that only yesterday, Harry was a mischievous little imp trotting along behind him, following his father's every step, begging for a sword and a horse of his own. It was difficult to reconcile his little boy with the young man standing before him, dressed in the long, billowing robes of a scholar. He had even started letting the hair on his face grow into a patchy little beard.

In a way, it looked quite ridiculous, but James couldn't find fault in it. He had done the same when he had been nineteen.

Sirius laughed even harder and gave Harry's chin hairs a tug. "The sprog has become a man, I see."

Harry turned red and pulled away. He smoothed a hand over his chin. "Just trying it out," he said.

"Well, be careful, son," James said. He tussled the boy's black hair. "Grow it out any longer, and you'll end up looking like Lord Dumbledore."

Sirius wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulder and gave him a good shake. "And just as tragically unmarried," he said.

"Lord Black," said a soft voice, "there is nothing tragic about my bachelorhood." Lord Albus Dumbledore rose from a cushioned seat by the table on the far side of the room. His embroidered robes and jeweled cap made James feel rather underdressed. The lord ran a hand down the length of his long white beard. "And I have been told on many occasions that my beard was quite fetching."

James and Sirius jumped to attention and bowed to their patron, mumbled greetings falling from their lips. Dumbledore waved the formalities away. "Please, sit. There is much to say and very little time."

They sat around the long table, the lord on one side and the three men on the other. Harry sat on the edge of his seat, his back straight and the queasy expression returning to his face.

James gave him a hard pat on the shoulder before sitting down between him and Sirius. He tried to give him a reassuring smile. "Forgive me, my lord," he said to Dumbledore, "I had come, believing that we were going to talk about the Decay and not of my son's prospects."

"Prospects? For marriage, you mean?" Dumbledore shook his head. "I don't see how you came to this conclusion."

"Perhaps Sirius's talk just now," James said. "And the fact that I cannot see why my son would be involved in any talk concerning the Decay."

"Well, that is a father's prerogative, to see what's best for his child first." Dumbledore tapped a finger on the papers on the table. A map of the Northern Wastes lay before them. Thinly-drawn lines surround the Wastes in widening circles. A black paper tower no taller than an inch rested at the center. "However, your first assumption was the correct one. I'm sending Harry to the Wastes to stop the Decay and I would like you to accompany him."

James started to protest, "Wait a minute—"

Sirius slammed his hands on the table and shot to his feet. "My lord, we have asked you for years to send us to the Wastes to deal with it. Years. And now you want to send the boy? If you would have just let us go back then—"

"The methods you proposed were not and are still not acceptable," Dumbledore said, staring Sirius down. "And the issue had not been as pressing then."

"It wouldn't be 'pressing' now if you had just let us—"

"Why Harry?" James said, cutting in. "Why now?"

Dumbledore took a breath. He clasped his thin hands on top of the table. "It is our duty—sit down, Sirius— it is our duty to deal with the Decay," he said. "I know that you have seen firsthand the damage it has done to our neighbors."

"But why Harry?"

Harry sat, his lips tightly pressed together and his hands clenched in his lap.

"It was Harry and his friends who were the ones who chanced upon a solution," Dumbledore said. "And Harry is the best person to execute it."

"And just what is this solution?" Sirius said.

"Purification," Harry said, his voice deep and strong, the cracking of adolescence absent. "In the center of the Decay, I will cast a spell, purifying the Wastes and, we think, putting an end to the Decay."

"Magic," Sirius spat.

"It was magic that created the Decay," Dumbledore said. "So it should be magic that stopped it."

"Yes, well, I still think one good stab would work just as well as a few words of mumble-jumbo."

"My lord, my apologies, but I cannot approve of this," James said. "Harry is still a child."

"Harry is no older now than you were when you went off on your first campaign," Dumbledore said. "He is the strongest adept in this castle and more than capable of purifying the Wastes."

"I don't care if he's the second coming of Merlin himself—"

"I'm going," Harry said, cutting his father off. He eyes were fixed on the bright red tapestry just past Dumbledore's shoulder. "I've already finished the preparations. Whatever you say can't change my mind."

"Harry—"

"Then why call for James?" Sirius said. "To ask for permission? Because it looks like you don't want it. Or need it."

"Harry is in need of an escort," Dumbledore said. "And while the Weasley brothers volunteered, they don't know the wilds and the Wastes nearly as well as the two of you." He gave the men a look over the rim of his glasses. "And the fewer men that travel through the Wastes, the safer."

"So no column of soldiers, either?" James said. "Just the three of us against the monsters in the Wastes?"

"Four, actually," Dumbledore said. He tapped a blue-colored shape on the map just outside the rings radiating from the black tower. "I have sent Master Lupin ahead to scout the land. He has said he will meet you at Loch Dallyne, just where the golden fern grows, in three days' time. You would have to leave early tomorrow morning to get there, but I'm certain you'll make it with time to spare."

"This is a terrible idea," Sirius said. "We should be marching twenty men in there—"

"The Lord Minister tried that last year," Dumbledore said. "None of those men returned."

"And you think the four of us can do it?"

"Absolutely," Dumbledore said. "I have complete faith in you to come back victorious."

* * *

They rode out an hour before sunrise, three men, four horses, and enough food to see them through weeks of travel, if they were careful with their rations.

Harry look almost grown in Charlie Weasley's old leathers. He had shaved the sparse hairs off his chin during the night, and sleepiness softened the tense look in his eyes. He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand.

James gave his reins a light tug and sidled up beside Harry. "We have a long day of riding in front of us," he said. "But if you need to take a break—"

"I'll be fine," Harry said. He swallowed another yawn. "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, that's all."

James held his tongue.

"If you're scared—" Sirius chimed in.

"I'm not scared," Harry said. He tightened his grip on the reins of his white mare. "I was brushing up on some spells, getting ready." He glared forward, at the winding road before them and the forests looming in the distance.

"I was nervous during my first campaign, too," James offered. "It's mostly a blur now, but I remember feeling so ill, I vomited down my front the night before."

"He actually vomited twice," Sirius said from behind them. "Once the night before, and again when we spotted the chimaera. Actually, now that I think about it, I pretty sure it was three times—"

"Thank you, Sirius," James said.

"His face was green for a week."

Harry laughed softly into his hand. He smiled the way his mother used to, soft and happy.

James clasped his hand on Harry's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "No harm will come to you. Sirius and I won't let it."

"Thank you, Da," Harry said. He looked away. "I know you don't like this plan, but I'm glad that you're with me."

"Harry, all you have to do is ask," James said. He gave his son's shoulder one last squeeze.

* * *

They reached Loch Dallyne after two days of hard riding. The ferns that grow along the bank were green with new growth. The cedar trees on the far shore were red with pollen. The very tip of a black tower rose just above the trees, distant and harmless.

James winced in sympathy as Harry slid off his mount and hobbled to a fallen log.

Sirius chuckled as he searched his saddle bag. "Good thing we're here a day early, isn't it." He tossed a tin at Harry, who caught it midair. "Gives you some time to recover."

Harry glared at Sirius, at the ground, and the tin of liniment in his hand. He then proceeded to slide off the log and onto the rocky ground. Sirius roared with laughter.

James smacked Sirius in the chest, not bothering to hide his own grin. "Let's get to work. We only have a few hours of sunlight." He dismounted and went to join his son. "It's been a while, huh."

Harry grunted.

"Don't worry too much about it," James said. "Long, hard rides are nothing like little sprints around the grounds. You need help with that liniment?"

Harry groaned.

"Well, best to get up and get it over with. Resting too long now is only going to make it worse."

"Yes, Da." He moaned as he crawled and wobbled to his feet. He hobbled to the relative seclusion of undergrowth, growing a bit steadier with each step before disappearing behind some bushes.

James joined Sirius by the horses and went to work unpacking them for the night. "If I remember correctly," Sirius said, making quick work of the saddles, "this lake is filled with pike."

"I hate pike," James said.

"If you'd rather eat bread, be my guest," Sirius said. "Harry and I will be eating succulent fish and love it."

"Only a wild man calls pike 'succulent'." James took the reins and tied the horses close to the dark, tea-colored waters. Remus should join them tomorrow. He was never late for a rendezvous.

James looked up and spotted the top of the black tower peeking out above the trees. Even at this distance, the sight filled him with anger and dread.

* * *

James jerked out of sleep by a bad dream, disjointed and disorienting. His hand instinctively grabbed the hilt of his sword, tucked against his side. He stared at the dying embers of their cooking fire and waited for his heart to calm down. Far in the distance, hidden by the cedars, was the black tower. Even from this distance, its shadow unsettled him.

On the other side of the fire, Sirius snored on, his chin tucked in and his arms wrapped around his sword. The sliver of the waning moon shone on the metal crossguard. The horses nickered in their sleep. Beside him, Harry's clothes lay on a pile on top of his pallet.

James rose slowly, the bad dream sharpening his nerves and panic clawing at his throat. He stared out at the still lake and got to his feet.

Harry was standing naked in the waist-deep water, facing the direction of the black tower. He waved a pale wood wand in the air, leaving a shimmering line of magic in its wake. "_Vocatium vivare_," he said, the whispered spell travelling over the water and rustling the cedar branches on the far shore. "I'm coming. Wait for me."

A icy wind blew from the north, pushing James's hair back as he ran into the water. Harry spread his arms out, steady against the wind. A voice, one James hasn't heard in years, whispered on the wind, saying words James could not make out but understood the same way he understood the roar of a bear or the growl of a dragon.

He grabbed his son by the arm and pulled him out of his trance. "What in gods' name are you doing?" he screamed over the wind. "Have you lost your mind!? Now he knows we're coming!"

"He's always known," Harry said. His green eyes, his mother's eyes, were wide with sorrow and moonlight. "He wants us to hurry."

* * *

_To be continued_


	2. Chapter 2

_Note_: The first chapter was, I think, very bare-bones. This is a little meatier. Severus and Remus show their faces, the probable cause of the Decay is explained, and James and Harry fight over Harry's boyfriend. Please forgive the typos. I think I caught them all, but I'm not sure.

* * *

The towers were the draftiest places in the castle. The winds would blow through the cracks in the masonry and across the back of the neck, like the kiss from a ghost in winter. The view, however, was unparalleled: thousands of miles of rocky, flower-dotted fields, thick, wild forest, and the dark waters of the Black Lake. They say that mermaids lived in its depths, and that centaurs and unicorns frolicked through the woods.

Harry had lived his entire life in the castle, but he had never seen mermaids, nor centaurs, nor unicorns.

He had, however, seen the Witch of the Northern Wastes.

They had met in a dream.

Maybe it was better to say that he was summoned, pulled into the Witch's mind by a powerful spell. One moment, Harry was in the castle's library, struggling to read a dry text about aquatic plant life, and the next, he was standing in a white room with no door and a high ceiling.

The walls of the room met at sharp, acute corners, some in and others out, giving the impression of being inside a large, jagged star. In the center of the room, on a snow-white throne, sat a man in black robes that flared out around his feet. On his brow was a crown of black thorns, barely visible against the black of his long hair.

The man stood, his body a thin black line against the white of the room. He stared at Harry for a long moment, a hundred different emotions flickering across his milk-white face, before settling on a cold, blank expression. "You're… his son."

The man's tone and expression reminded Harry of Master Flitwick when Harry botched a simple spell, of Hermione when a potion wasn't the exact shade of crimson, of Sirius when Harry got through his defenses and nicked him during practice. Of his father, when Harry smiled in a certain light.

"Who are you?" Harry said.

The man crossed his arms, tugging his robes along. He tucked his hands out of sight. "Do you not know my name?" he said, his voice dark and deep, like the bottom of a well. "Does your father not curse my name every night? Does your godfather not spit my name on the flagstones?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know your name."

"Then," the man said, taking a step forward. He seemed to tower above Harry, his black eyes glittering with ill humor. "Will you tell me your name, in exchange for mine?"

"They say names have power," Harry said.

"All words have power, not just names," the man said. "You should have learned that much by now."

Harry stared into the man's eyes. "Who are you?"

"I am the Witch," the man's mouth twitched into a smirk, the word seemingly amusing him, "of the Northern Wastes." He extended his right hand. It was white, bloodless, the fingernails black. "Severus Snape."

Harry took the man's hand. It was warm and dry, the grip firm. "Harry Potter," he said in return.

The man's sardonic expression lessened. He drew closer. He smelled of smoke and crushed flowers and the sweetness of rot. "You have her eyes," the Witch said, not letting go of Harry's hand. "But do you have her power?"

* * *

James dragged his naked, wet son onto the shore. The horses were awake and panicking, frightened out of their sleep by the cold wind from the Wastes. Sirius, sword unsheathed and at the ready, searched the skies for an enemy to skewer. "What happened?" he cried over the sound of the horses.

"Sirius, go see to the horses," James said. "The horses!" he shouted when Sirius didn't move. He manhandled Harry to the dying fire. Harry collapsed on his pallet, his head down.

James swore under his breath over and over as he wrapped his blanket around Harry. "What were you thinking?" he said. He rubbed the rough cloth over Harry's cold shoulders and down his arms. Harry's lips were blue. He had started to shiver.

"I needed to know he's alright." Harry looked up, the wide, solemn look still in his eyes. "He's dying, Da."

"Good," James spat without thinking. Harry's eyes widened in shock. James lifted his head towards the black tower, invisible against the starless sky. "You hear that!"

Harry grabbed at James's clothes. "Da, please, listen—"

"You better _pray_ you're dead before I get there!" James yelled into the night. "You hear me?"

No icy wind blew across the lake in response.

"James, go cool your head," Sirius said.

"Do you know what he has done?" James said.

"Harry is shivering half to dead, James, and you don't look much better," Sirius said. "Either go cool your head or help me build up the fire."

"He called him," James said. "He told him that we're coming."

"Good," Sirius said. "I hope he wets himself at the thought." He nudged James to his feet. "Go get kindling."

James stumbled a step or two back. Harry curled himself into a ball, pulling the blanket tight around his body and pressing his face into his knees. Sirius nodded at James. "I'll take care of him," he mouthed.

James clenched his hands in frustration before wandering off towards the horses.

The horses reared as he got closer. At least they can sense the danger. "Okay, Comet," he murmured against his horse's neck, petting her with a firm hand.

Sirius wrapped his arm around Harry's hunched shoulders and pulled the boy close. He cradled Harry's head and lowered his face into the boy's hair. Sirius's voice rumbled over the distance, the words inaudible but soothing.

James took his time with the horses, calming himself by calming them. When he returned to the fire, Sirius looked up and placed a finger to his lips. Harry stayed curled up at Sirius's side, quiet and still. His hands fisted Sirius's shirt like a baby clinging to his mother.

"Soon as he closed his eyes, he dropped off to sleep," Sirius said, his voice a murmur. "What happened?"

"He called him," James said. He brushed back Harry's hair. Harry's eyes were squeezed shut. He smoothed away the lines on Harry's brow with his thumb. "He went into the water and used some spell to let him know we're coming." James sat beside his son. He stared out at the still waters, the black tower invisible against the black sky. "That he was dying and that he already knew we were on our way."

Sirius looked down at Harry's head. "Are you sure that it was him that Harry was calling?"

James tossed a twig into the ashes. "I heard that bastard's voice in the wind." He rubbed his face with his hands. "You don't think he wouldn't stoop to poisoning Harry's mind, too, if given half the chance?"

"But how? They've never met."

Harry stirred in his sleep. "Severus," he mumbled, burying his face into Sirius's shoulder.

"Huh," was all Sirius managed.

* * *

Harry did not wake up until long after the sun rose.

James nudged him off his pallet with his foot. "Go tend to the horses," he said. "Remus will be here any minute."

Harry shot a dark look at his father from over his shoulder and hobbled to his feet. He winced with each step.

"And put some more liniment on your legs," James shouted after him. Harry kept shuffling away.

"Poor sprog looks hungover," Sirius said. The rabbits they had caught that morning lay at his feet, waiting to be skinned and gutted. "That spell must have taken a lot out of him."

"Maybe he shouldn't have cast it," James said.

"Maybe you should talk to him," Sirius said. "Find out what's going on in his head."

Harry cleared away the horse muck with a stick like an old man shooing away ducks.

"Hand me your sword," James said, grabbing Sirius's sword and standing.

"James." Sirius made a grab for the sword, but James was already out of reach. "I said talk, not fight."

"We're not going to fight," James said, picking up his own sword. "Harry, come here."

Harry glared at James. He tossed the stick into the underbrush and shuffled to him, his eyes on the swords in James's hands.

"When was the last time you sparred with Sirius?" James said. He tossed Sirius's sword at Harry.

He caught it with one hand. "I don't remember."

Sirius shrugged. "I was busy."

"What about Bill Weasley?" James said. Harry shook his head. "The twins? You're telling me that you're going to the Wastes and you haven't kept up your swordplay, is that it?"

"I was busy," Harry said.

"You have time, now." James unsheathed his sword and tossed the scabbard to the side. "Come and show your father what you can do."

Harry held the sword, his hands around the sheathed blade. "I don't want to fight, Da."

"It's not a fight," James said, lifting the blade at the ready. "It's practice."

"I don't want to practice, then," Harry said.

"This isn't about what you want," James said. He moved, blade first, towards Harry.

Harry parried with the sheathed sword, his reflexes sharp. He back away; his hands slid down to the hilt just in time to block James's next attack.

"What are you going to do when something attacks us?" James said, pushing his advance. He caught Harry on the wrong foot. Harry quickly recovered. "The monsters in the Wastes aren't going to be merciful."

"There are no monsters in the Wastes," Harry said. He blocked James, blow by blow, never attacking, never unsheathing the blade, never leaving an opening for James to exploit.

James pushed him back another step. "I can think of at least one."

Harry caught James's blade and parried, pushing James back. "He's not a monster," he said. He cut across James's attack.

"You don't know him," James said, going on the defense.

"_You_ don't know him," Harry shouted back, his attacks growing faster, wilder. "He's done everything he can—"

"He's a Dark wizard, has always been, since we were children—" James's steel cut through the sheath.

"He has done nothing wrong!"

"He killed your mother!" James twisted Sirius's sword out of Harry's hands, sending the sword flying to the side. He was panting hard. The sword in his hand shook as habit brought the tip to Harry's neck.

Harry's eyes were wide as he stared up at his father's face. He was blinked hard and fast.

James lowered the sword and reached out with his hand. "Harry—"

Harry jerked out of reach and stormed off, his sore legs giving him the gait of a tired foal.

James picked up Sirius's sword and his discarded sheath. He wiped his blade with the end of his coat and slid it back into its sheath. He went back to the fire and sat down across from Sirius and his half-butchered rabbits. He gave Sirius back his sword, set his own aside, and with a deep sigh, covered his face with his hands.

Remus ambled out of the woods, his footsteps light and his traveling sack empty. "It seems that I missed all the excitement," he said, his voice as light as his step.

"By hiding in the woods and waiting until it's over?" Sirius said.

Remus dropped his sack by Sirius. He placed his hand on Sirius's shoulder. "I'll go say hello to Harry," he said.

James clasped his hands in front of his face and watched Remus walk off in search of Harry. "I completely cocked that up," he said into his hands.

* * *

"Harry."

Harry scrubbed at his eyes, wiping away the tears. "Master Lupin," he said, thankful his voice didn't crack or waver. He wiped at his eyes one last time before turning around.

"Remus, please," Remus said, a soft, inviting smile on his face. "I'm no longer your teacher, after all."

"Yes, I know," Harry said. "Force of habit."

Remus nodded. "Quite understandable. Habits are hard to break for a reason, after all." He sidled closer, his thumbs hooked around his belt and his shoulders hunched up to his ears. "May I?" He lifted Harry's chin and took a good look at his face. "My boy, you're exhausted! You should be resting, not sparring with your father."

"It wasn't my idea," Harry said, unable to keep the surliness out of his tone.

Remus tilted Harry's head this way and that, examining every angle. "What sort of magic have you been doing?"

Harry shook his head, moving away. "Da can tell you," he said.

"I'd rather hear about it from you," Remus said. He searched his pockets. "Ah," he said, pulling out a small packet wrapped in waxed paper. "I knew I had a bit left over."

He unwrapped the paper and held it out to Harry. "This should help with the exhaustion." Harry hesitated before taking one of the offered pieces of chocolate.

"How is it that you always have chocolate?" Harry asked, nibbling on the sweet. "Mistress Weasley always complains about the price when Ron and I try to steal some from the larder."

"Ah," Remus said, wrapping the rest and tucking it away. "It's magic."

Harry snorted and ate the chocolate slowly, savoring the sweetness on his tongue and the warmth that filled his body.

"Will you tell me what happened, Harry?" Remus said.

The chocolate's warmth faded. Harry suddenly felt cold. He turned away. "I cast a calling spell. To him."

"I see." Remus said. "The black tower is quite far from here."

"I used the loch to amplify it," Harry said.

"One of Hermione's ideas?" Remus said. "It's quite clever, water's a natural conductor."

"One of his." Harry stared down at the ground. "He said he has an affinity with water."

"Harry," Remus shifted his weight and adjusted the slope of his shoulders, "do you trust him?"

Harry looked at Remus with an open, earnest expression on his face. "It's not about that," he said. "He needs my help. He can't fight off the Decay anymore, not alone."

"But why you?"

A light shone in Harry's eyes. "Because he chose me. I'm his best possible choice. I—" He lowered his eyes. "I'm the only one who can."

* * *

The rabbits and the loch's last trout cooked, skewered on a spit over the fire. Harry scowled as he turned the meat.

Remus etched a crude map of the Northern Wastes with a stick as long as his forearm. He drove the stick into the ground in the dead center of the map. "The black tower," he said.

"Bit too tall to be the black tower, Remus," Sirius said.

"It's quite to scale, I assure you." He took a breath. "There's no doubt in my mind that the Decay either started in or originated from the black tower."

"There's a difference?" James said.

"A small one." Remus pulled out a sealed jar from his traveling sack. Inside was a cutting of a black vine, every centimeter of it covered with inch-long thorns. "Do you remember the last time we went to the Wastes, Sirius?" He set the jar on the map next to the tower facsimile.

Sirius's attention was on the black thorns in the jar. "Bellatrix," he said. "The plant that she had looked just like that one. We burned it."

"We did," Remus said. "But it was either hardier than we had presumed, or she had another cutting on her body. Either is possible, but I am more inclined to believe the former."

James reached for the jar.

"Best not to touch it," Remus said. "It's a small sample, but incredibly dangerous. It took a considerable amount of effort and cunning for me to collect even this much without injuring myself." He tapped the glass. The vine jolted and jumped at the sound. "It's a parasite. Once it touches something with even a drop of life in it, it absorbs it, consumes it. Or, worse, it infects it. The infected turns violently mad and starts attacking everything within sight, including itself. They don't live long afterwards."

Remus leaned forward. He rested his elbows on his legs, his hands clasped between his knees. "The Wastes are destroyed. The bogland, the stunted trees, the _monsters_, they're all gone. There's nothing now but miles and miles of these vines. And the black tower." He gestured at the stick. "It's completely covered with these vines. The vines, in fact, have grown so high, they're the black tower in and of themselves. 600, 700 meters straight up into the air."

The tip of the tower was visible just beyond the trees, black against the light blue sky.

"Theres only two things living in the Wastes now. These vines and the dragon that guards the black tower." Remus paused. "Three, if he is still alive."

"One," Harry said under his breath. The food turned slowly.

"A dragon?" Sirius said.

"I believe it's a magical construct," Remus said. "Like a homunculus or a golem, only a giant black dragon. I don't know if it will attack us if we approach the tower, but it's a fairly good possibility."

"Knowing him, it's probably some sort of trick," Sirius said.

"Let's hope it is," James said. "We'll start for the Wastes in the morning. It'll be a long trip and we'll need the time to get ready."

"Remus, may I see the cutting?" Harry said as Remus moved to put the jar away. "To examine it."

Remus hesitated. "Of course," he said after a beat. "Make sure that you do not break the seal. If it gets out, it will spread the Decay here."

"I won't," Harry said, cradling the jar with both hands. He walked to the fallen log and set the jar down.

"Remus, why—" James said. Remus silenced him with a hand.

Harry took out his wand. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and started to whisper. He flicked the wand from one side to the other before pointing it at the cutting. The vine began to glow, turning blinding white before bursting into a thousand glittering shards of light.

"_That's_ the purification spell?" Sirius whispered.

Harry held the jar up to the sky. The shards of light inside floated like motes of dust in the sun.

* * *

_to be continued_


	3. Chapter 3

_Note_: Thank you reading this far.

I'm writing this from the seat of my pants, but it was a pretty simple story, plot-wise. Then I thought it was a good idea to throw in that plot twist in chapter 2, all willy-nilly. It's kind of a nod to canon!Snape and how his actions led to Lily's death, I thought. Nods to canon are fun, I thought. But I hit a snag because of it, spending one night thinking about how to work it into the story, and three days rewriting.

But I think the story will be stronger for it. Here's hoping.

_This chapter_: There is no such thing as objective truth, Severus tells his side, and the group encounters a bear.

* * *

A year and a day passed before the Witch of the Northern Wastes summoned Harry again.

For a few months after their first meeting, Harry had spent every free moment searching for any information on Severus Snape. He reasoned that any witch or wizard of great enough power would had passed through this castle at one point in their life.

He had found his first clue in one of the castle's old ledgers, in which the names of the castle's residents were meticulously recorded. He had looked through them many times before in search for his mother's name, never noticing any others. But there, several lines down from "Evans, Lily - apprentice", was "Snape, Severus - apprentice", under Master Slughorn's tutelage twenty years ago.

His mother's old potions journals had never held nearly as much interest to Harry as they did that year. He scanned them, seeking out Severus's name. In her earliest journals, she mentioned a "Sev" several times and had even drawn a crude little portrait of him next to a scrawled list of ingredients. The black eyes, large nose, and long hair were distinctively his, the thin upturned smile was not, but the word "SEV" and the arrow pointing down to the caricature made identification easier.

When he asked Master Slughorn about Severus Snape, however, the old Potions Master's face turned deathly pale. "How dare you ask me about… about that monster?" he said. He clutched at his robes, his eyes fearfully darting to the dark shadows. "Harry, for your dear mother's sake, please, do not ask me of that name again. I doubt my heart could stand it."

He asked his father if Severus and his mother were friends. Da's reaction was not much better.

"Harry," Da said in a calm tone even as anger turned his face a dark red, "that man was a freak obsessed with dark magic, constantly creeping around your mother, and she was just too kind-hearted to turn him away." He let out a long breath. "That… man is the reason your mother's gone. He killed her. And now he's rotting away in the Northern Wastes." He placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "It's better if you forgot about him."

That is why, when Harry felt the pull on his mind, the call to join the Witch in that white, jagged room for a bit of conversation, he fought against it, digging his fingernails into his palms hard enough to draw blood. His stubbornness, however, was no match for the Witch's magic. One moment, he was in the red drawing room, in the middle of writing a paper for Mistress McGonagall, and the next, he was in the Witch's white room.

The blinding whiteness had dimmed since his first visit. Black, writhing shadows had started to gather in the corners of the room. The ceiling did not look as high as it did before. The walls felt like they were closing in.

The Witch sat on his throne. The crown of thorns had grown larger, reaching upward to form short, sharp spikes that encircle his head. His white hands gripped the armrest.

"You killed my mother," Harry said before the Witch could speak.

If the Witch was surprised, it didn't show in the cool curve of his mouth, in the line of his shoulders. "Yes, I did," he said, the words quick and direct.

"You don't deny it?"

"Why should I prevaricate?" the Witch said, raising his hand in a shrug. He leaned to the side and took a long look at Harry's face. "This is not the topic I wished to discuss with you today."

"That's too bad," Harry said, a rush of anger warming his belly. "Why did you kill her?"

The Witch twisted his shoulders. His head tilted to the side as if to take a better look. "Do you even know _how_ your mother died?"

"She died saving my life."

"Quite." The Witch rose, stiff and weary, from his throne. "Just after your first birthday, when you fell under a curse and started to waste away, your mother came to me for help, and help I did. I created a spell just for her. To save you." He stood at arms' length. His milk-white face looked grey and drawn under the black thorns. "But the spell was flawed. Words have power, spells doubly so, but in my arrogance, I did not consider the cost. It healed you, yes, but at the cost of her life. Perhaps she would have thought it a fair trade, a mother's life for her son's, but it wasn't a trade that needed to happen at all. She died due to _my_ mistakes, and I will never forgive myself for that."

"How can I believe what you say is true?" Harry said.

"The same way you learned about my role in your mother's death, perhaps?" the Witch said. He took Harry's hands and turned them palms-up. "Your father must have much to say about it." His hands cradled Harry's. His thumbs rubbed circles on Harry's palms, their warm touch frighteningly soothing. "But," he said, "if ever you wish for an ounce of revenge, or a pound of retribution, you know where my body lies."

Harry's heart stuttered. "Where your body lies?"

"In the black tower in the center of the Wastes," the Witch said. "Surrounded by cursed thorns that would just as soon devour you as destroy you." He smiled, but there was no humor in his eyes. Only deep, black despair.

"Is there a difference?" Harry said.

"A small one," the Witch said.

When Harry awoke, his palms were healed, the cuts smoothed away and the skin cleaned of blood.

* * *

After days of riding, the forests thinned out and they reached the rocky uplands. Newly-arrived spring had covered the land with young grass. Here and there, patches of snow still lingered, hiding in the cold shadows. Beyond the uplands, the black tower loomed, like a beacon full of ominous promise.

They rode in a loose diamond-like formation up the dirt lane. The hooves of their horses kicked up the fine soil. Sheep grazed by a far-off crag, their sheepherder a dark spot among them. James could feel their eyes on him.

Sirius, riding point, waved at the sheepherder. "Any one else craving mutton?" he said.

"We have more than enough food with us," James said. "Besides, gods know how stringy those sheep are after a long winter."

"Hardly any meat on them at all this time of year," Remus said from the back.

"You're right," Sirius said, "but now I can't get the idea of rushing up there and begging for a ewe out of my head."

"I'm sure you'll survive," Remus said.

"I can't even think of the last time I had lamb," Sirius said. "Harry's birthday?"

"I remember that," James said. "Harry even helped out and made the mint sauce, right Harry?"

Harry stared off to the side, his eyes on the black tower, and said nothing. James leaned forward and tried to catch his son's eye. Harry turned his head away.

"Remus," Sirius said. He nodded his head towards a dark mass on the road ahead. "When was the last time we had bear?"

"Together? Three years ago, I think." Remus said. "But I doubt the meat would be any better on a bear."

The bear moved erratically, rushing from one side to the other, as if a swarm of bees were chasing it down the lane. It whimpered and growled and slammed its body hard against the rocky ground.

James drew his sword. "I don't think that bear's fit for eating."

Remus took out his bow. "You're probably right." He nocked an arrow and drew it back. "Sirius, a bit to the left, please."

"Come on, Remus, where the fun in taking it out in one shot?" Sirius dismounted with a toothy grin. He tossed his reins to James, unsheathed his sword, and sauntered towards the beast.

"It's a lot more fun that becoming infected with whatever parasite is driving that bear mad," Remus said, not lowering his bow.

Harry slid down from his horse. "Sirius, wait!" He started to run towards the bear.

"Harry, stop!" James said. Comet stamped and grew restless underneath him.

"It's the Decay, he's infected!" Harry said, his wand out. "I can cure him!"

Sirius made to grab Harry by the collar, but the boy was fast and his reflexes faster.

James all but threw himself off Comet. "Harry, no!" Harry was already within clawing distance of the bear. The beast rolled on the ground, roaring in pain. James ran after him. As he got closer, he could see black thorns embedded in the beast's face and body. "Get away from it!"

"I can save him," Harry said. He raised his wand and swung it from one side to the other. "_Maladicta ardentur_," he said, his voice lifting in song as he aimed the wand at the bear. As the spell had done to Remus's cutting, it engulfed the beast in a fearsome light. James threw his arm over his eyes against the glare.

The magical light exploded, showering them with shards of light that melted on the skin like snow. Sirius wrapped his arms around Harry and pulled him away. Harry slumped in his arms, the grip on his wand lax.

The bear lay in the middle of the road, the sparkling shards lighting upon its fur before dissolving away. James approached, his sword low and at the ready, but the beast did not stir. He gave the snout a poke.

"It's dead," James said.

Harry gasped. "No," he said. He pushed against Sirius's arms. "The spell, it shouldn't have killed him."

James turned the bear over with his foot. Blood matted the fur on its belly. "Sirius, how deep do you think these wounds are?"

Sirius released Harry and ambled closer. He squatted by the corpse and pulled back the fur to reveal deep gashes. His hands probed inside. "I think this one cut open its belly. That wound in its head is not much better." He looked back as Harry. "Whatever it went through, it wouldn't have survived. The thorns got in too deep."

Harry looked sorrowfully at the bear.

"Harry," Remus said, still on his mount as he guided the rest of the horses behind him. "About that spell. One of Lord Dumbledore's, is it?"

Harry looked up at Remus, fear and wariness plain on his face, before stomping off.

James moved to chase him down.

Sirius stopped James with a hand on his shoulder. "Give him some time alone," he said. "He's clearly upset."

"About a dead bear?" James said.

"Harry's always had a kind heart," Sirius said, uncertainty in his voice.

Remus leaned forward, deep in thought. "Did that spell sound familiar to either of you?" he said.

Sirius scoffed. "You know James and I are pants at remembering all those mumble-jumble words."

Remus rubbed his hand on his chin.

James rolled his eyes. "For gods' sake, Remus, whatever it is, just say it," he said.

"I think it was one of _his_ spells," Remus said.

James felt a chill down his spine.

* * *

_to be continued_


	4. Chapter 4

_Note_: A longer chapter this time. It just happened that way. There's a lot in this chapter that could be seen as indulgent...

_This chapter_: Harry builds himself a broom. The real cause of the Decay is explained. Harry and James have a very short heart-to-heart.

* * *

_You know where my body lies_.

The Witch did not explicitly invite Harry to visit, but days after their short talk, the feel of the Witch's hands holding his still lingered. The thought of riding out to the Wastes, to demand answers from the Witch, would slither into his mind at all hours of the day, tempting in its persistence.

Harry had started to daydream about storming the black tower. He tried to imagine the look on the Witch's face when they finally met in the flesh, a mixture of surprise and ill-hidden respect, maybe.

The problem was the distance. It took the greater part of two weeks to reach the Wastes by horse, and Harry couldn't disappear from the castle for over a month without rousing some suspicion. A voice within him, one that sounded rather like Hermione's, told him he should tell someone about the Witch and his summonings. But he couldn't tell his father or Sirius, or any of his friends for that matter; they'd immediately assume Harry was being bewitched.

And, he admitted to himself, perhaps he was.

Keeping this secret gave Harry a small, sweet thrill. He had a strange mystery in his hands and he felt compelled to solve it on his own.

This, however, did not mean he didn't ask others for help.

He started by asking Hermione; if anyone knew the answer, she did, or would die finding it out. As they studied together one night, Harry posed the question to her in the most casual, academic way he could: "What do you suppose the fastest way to travel is?"

She did not look up from the heavy tome she was reading. "By land, by air, or by sea? Or are we talking hypothetical?"

"Just… generally speaking."

"Horse and carriage," she said, turning a page. "But there's also the broomstick."

* * *

The broomstick. There were a few in the castle, but the rickety bundles of sticks were hard to maneuver and rough on the backside. Anyone with magical ability can fly with one, but most would rather ride shank's mare than risk their necks.

But, it was much faster than a horse. Journeys that took days on horseback would take mere hours on broom.

"Wanna taste the thrill of the skies, young Potter?" Madam Hooch said when he approached her for help. "You're going to have to build yourself a broomstick of your own, but you can ride one of my spares, see if you have the stomach for it."

He did, surprising himself as he took laps around the grounds. The broom didn't fly much higher the treetops, and nor much faster than his horse, Nimbus, on a lazy afternoon, but it was more than enough to fill Harry with a hunger for more.

He tried to build his broomstick in secret. He shouldn't had bothered trying. Hooch, so enthused by the thought of finding another initiate into the world of flight, told everyone who stood still long enough to listen. The week barely ended before the whole castle knew.

As soon as they heard Harry was building one, both Ron and Ginny pushed their way into joining in.

"You're going to need help hauling all that wood around," Ron said.

"And with the charmwork," Ginny said.

Harry only smiled, no thought of arguing entering his mind.

They used one of the old sheds as their workshop and dove into the project with zeal. In between lessons, training, chores, and sleep, they worked. They scoured the castle's library and Madam Hooch's collection for books on tree lore, charms, and woodworking. They spend weeks in the forests around the castle, searching for the perfect twigs and branches. The smell of sawdust and oil clung to their hands and hair.

No one asked Harry why the sudden interest in flight. Ron joined in for the sport of it, and Ginny for the rush. Harry let others assume he felt the same. He hated how deceptive that made him feel, but the Witch was _his_ mystery.

He daydreamed of the Witch's hands, of how they would feel, warm, dry and firm, against his skin. A whiff of smoke brought to mind the man's black, bottomless eyes.

* * *

When his father found out about Harry's new interest, he laughed. "Planning to fly off to anywhere in particular?" he said.

"No, not really," Harry said, a slight chill forming in his chest as he lied. "What do you suggest?"

"For places to visit?" James gave his face a rub. "I've never really been to places that are considered nice to visit," he said. He ran a hand over the rough surface of the broom handle. "You should smooth this down a lot more."

They spent the greater part of that afternoon taking turns with a hand plane, scraping down the surface of the handle to lessen the chance of splinters getting stuck in Harry's bottom, before Da showed him how to use rottenstone and oil to polish the wood even further.

Guilt gnawed at Harry for weeks.

* * *

But, he did not stop. Even when winter had truly settled over the grounds, the workshop was more icicle than wood, and the cold drove the more sensible Weasley siblings into the warmth of the castle, Harry pushed on. The broomstick practically hummed in his hands now, vibrating with a desire to take to the sky. Soon, another month, maybe two, and he would fly to the Northern Wastes. He would dive right through the black tower's doors, take the Witch in his hands, and—

A brisk little knock on the woodshed's door startled Harry out of his thoughts.

"I saw a light while strolling the grounds and thought I'd pay a visit," Lord Dumbledore said, peering into the woodshed. "If you don't mind."

"No, of course not," Harry said, letting the lord in. He so rarely stood before Lord Dumbledore on his own, he wasn't sure what to do. "I'm sorry that there's nowhere for you to sit—"

"Ah, don't worry," Dumbledore said. With a flick of his wand, a plump, rose-colored chair appeared, gently nudging itself into place between the piles of failed broomsticks and the heavy quilt hung on the wall to keep some of the cold out. "I think I can make do." As he sat down, a delicate table, with a dark jug and two mugs, popped into existence at his side. "A bit of ale to warm you up," he said as he poured some into each mug. "You were missed at dinner."

Harry sat down on the shed's only stool and took the offered mug. "I lost track of time."

Dumbledore leaned back into his chair and sighed. "Ah, the power of youth," the lord said. "I miss the days when I could bend down over a project and could still straighten my back without groaning afterwards." He took a sip of his ale. "That broom is coming out rather well. The handle is…"

"Ebony, my lord," Harry said. He handed the nearly-finished broom over. "The charms stick best to it."

"It's a fine choice." Dumbledore rested it on the flat of his hand. "Nicely balanced, the grain straight. It will be like riding a bolt of lightning, I have no doubt." He looked at Harry from over the rims of his glasses. "You did very fine work here, Harry."

"Thank you, my lord."

* * *

In the spring, when the broom was finally finished, he went on a ride. The lord had been right about its speed; the ebony broom zipped so fast across the Black Lake, the entire world was a blur. The wind burned against his face as he clung to the handle, the charms on the broom the only thing between him and a nasty fall into the icy waters. As soon as his feet touched ground once more, his father was upon him, searching with his hands that Harry had returned in one piece.

"That was—"

"Brilliant!" Sirius shouted, nearly knocking both Harry and Da down in his enthusiasm. "Mind giving your poor godfather a go?" Harry barely said a word before Sirius mounted the broom and shot straight towards the sun, screaming with glee. The Weasley brothers and Madam Hooch rushed in, arguing over who would get the next turn, only to stop when Mistress Weasley came out to wag her finger at all of them, especially Sirius, whose wind-tangled hair and wide grin belied the mumbled apologies he gave her.

* * *

Two nights after his first ride, Harry climbed up the Astronomer's Tower, broom in hand and heart beating wildly in his chest. The sky was clear and full of stars, with a gibbous moon tinting the land in silver. He wore the warmest clothes he owned, layered on thick to protect himself from the icy winds and the hard ride.

The broomstick hummed in his hand, as if it knew was created for this very flight.

Harry mounted the broom, adjusted his grip, and, with a deep breath, took to the sky.

As he flew above the forests and fields, a great sense of exhilaration filled him, intermixed with nearly overwhelming fear. The biting cold air cut across his exposed cheeks and irrational thoughts of losing his grip and tumbling out of the sky, of his father finding his body in a lonely glen, made his body tremble.

But the Pole Star shone on him, its light reassuring as it guided him north. The world below was silent, and he was beyond its reach, a bolt of lightning full of purpose.

He reached the edges of the Northern Wastes as the sun began to rise. The buttery yellow light caught itself on the tall spike of the black tower first, before stretching down and across the Wastes. Harry, who had always imagined the Wastes to be desolate and foul, stared in awe at the miles and miles of red and gold flowers that carpeted the land. The gnarled branches of the trees glittered green with new growth. From high above the ground, the Wastes held a simple, hardy beauty.

Closer to the tower, however, the ground had turned grey and barren. A ring of thorn bushes, twenty feet high and nearly just as deep, had encircled and engulfed the black tower. Nestled in the thorns, like a dog sleeping at its master's door, was a black dragon, its iridescent hide shimmering in the morning light.

Harry flew cautiously towards the tower, his attention torn between the sleeping dragon and searching for a way inside. If he shouted the Witch's name, would he appear?

_Where my body lies._

The dragon yawned and lifted its head. Its green, slitted eyes caught Harry's, sending a jolt of familiarity through him.

"Severus?" Harry said softly.

The dragon raised itself on its haunches and stretched. Its wings unfurled, its claws curled, as its body grew taunt before releasing with a fire-tinged sigh. With a black claw as long as Harry was tall, the dragon tore a line through the thorny vines wrapped around the tower to reveal a heavy oak door. It pushed the doors open with a knuckle before climbing up the tower. It beckoned Harry closer with a flick of its tail.

Harry eyed the dragon warily but eased the broom down. Up close, the thorns gave off a toxic, rotten smell that made the hairs in his nose curl. Tucking his body as close to the broom handle as possible, he flew into the tower and was suddenly swallowed by darkness.

Harry took out his wand. "_Lumos._" The magical light dispelled some of the gloom.

The inside of the tower was as overrun by the thorns as the outside. No surface had escaped the invasive vines. Countless books, the covers torn, lined the walls, the furniture set in the center ripped apart by the plants. Harry eyed the room, uncertain, when the dragon, now no larger than a sheepdog, darted past him and up the stairs. It turned and coughed a bit of flame, as if telling Harry to come along. Harry floated up behind it.

The stairs wound along the walls of the tower, steep and narrow. Harry flew as far from the walls as possible, taking care not to scrape against the thorns. The dragon, unbothered by the plants, trotted up the stairs, its spiked tail swinging.

On the third story landing stood an open door. Harry did not need the dragon's prompting to go inside.

A bed stood in the center of the room, dappled with sunlight that shone through the thorns. Harry hovered closer, his heart in his throat.

In the bed, surrounded by vine-covered sheets, the Witch of the Northern Wastes slept, undisturbed by the sun or the thorns embedded in his body. Harry should have expected him to look different from how he looked in the dream, but the sight still jarred something inside his chest. Severus's skin wasn't milk-white and smooth, but cream, almost sallow, in the soft light. Color tinted his cheeks and lips and eyelids, age lined the corners of his eyes and mouth. His black hair, much longer than in the dream, spread out over the sheets and down the sides of the bed, the locks tangled in the thorns.

The vines did not cover him as completely as it had the tower and the lands surrounding it. It wrapped thin tendrils down his arms and around his neck. It caressed his cheek. As Harry looked closer, however, he could feel his blood run cold.

From the center of Severus's chest, cradled by his loosely clasped hands, grew hundreds of thin vines that spilled over his body and down to the floor. They snaked and curled underneath his skin like veins, the tiny thorns jutting out like hairs. The vines seemed to move, slow and steady, in rhythm with the rise and fall of Severus's chest. And he slept on, undisturbed by the thorns invading his body with every breath.

The dragon jumped onto the bed and curled itself beside Severus's still form. It tucked its head next to the vines growing out of Severus's body and looked up at Harry with doleful eyes.

Harry was still learning, but there was no mistaking the malefic aura surrounding this tower. A curse had embedded itself in the Witch, and Harry, who had flown to the Wastes impulsively for a confrontation, had not the slightest clue as to how to break it.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked the dragon.

The dragon buried its head into the crook of Severus's arm and closed its eyes.

* * *

He flew back south in a heavy, grey mood. As he got closer to the castle, he flew lower and lower, nearly in the trees before crash-landing by a creek around midday. He washed his hands and face in the ice-cold water, but the chill did nothing to ease his heart. He gripped at his hair and waited for his thoughts to settle, but the sight of the black tower, the smell of rot, the thorns growing out of Severus, he could not escape them.

He leaned against a tree and vomited up what little bile he had inside his stomach. He rinsed the taste out of his mouth and washed his face again.

He hid the broomstick in a fallen tree far from the castle and marked the log with an H before starting the long walk home. By the time he reached the edge of the grounds, it was nearly evening. The last rays of sunshine stretched across the grounds and painted the castle stones red.

He had a story ready, of how he wanted to fly first thing in the morning, lost control of the broom, and foolishly crashed through the woods. His broom, the one he had spend so much time and effort into making, was gone, lost to the winds.

His father had been furious. He didn't believe one word of Harry's story, but Harry must have looked as sickly and drawn as he felt because Da never pressed him for the truth.

Harry spent the rest of that day and much of the next in his rooms, ostensibly mourning the loss of his broom.

In this way, a year and a day passed.

* * *

While Harry struggled and failed to understand a book of hexes and curses, he felt the pull of the Witch's magic on his mind. He sank into it eagerly, almost desperately.

The jagged room, once vast and blinding, had dimmed further, the corners crowding in around Harry. The Witch, half-hidden in the grey light, listlessly lifted his head from his hand. The crown on his head had grown downwards, covering the man's eyes. "You came to the Wastes," he said.

"I wanted to know what is going on," Harry said. "Why do you keep bringing me here? Why are there thorns growing out of your body? Also, that dragon… is it a dragon?"

"In a sense."

"Are you going to explain any of it?"

Severus sighed, rested his head in his hand, and waved at the dimmed room with the other. "It's a curse," he said. "The fruit of life. Or the fruit of immortality. A bastardized version of it, in any case." He sighed. "Another witch had brought it to the Wastes, hoping to use it to bring a dark lord back to life, but her spellwork was flawed. And I was the unlucky fool to become infected by it."

Harry stood toe to toe with the seated Witch. The man's eyes were barely visible behind the lattice of thorns. They were closed, the black lashes almost invisible against the dark circles under his eyes. "What does it do?" Harry said.

"If it worked correctly, the curse would spread across a land and absorb every ounce of life it touches until it creates a single fruit, the fruit of life. But in her insanity, she forgot some key ingredient. So, instead of spreading until the fruit is ready, the curse just… devours. Everything."

His hand fell to rest against Harry's. "At first," he said, "I worked to contain it, to redirect the strength it was gathering into myself and the thorns. But, there is nothing to mark the end of its hunger. I'm holding the worse of it back, but it's a losing battle. You have already seen what it has done to my body, and what it's now doing to my mind. Eventually, my hold will slip and this curse will spread, killing everything in its path."

"I started looking into counter-curses," Harry said, gripping Severus's hand tight. "It might take some time, but—"

"I already have the counter-curse we need," Severus said.

Harry sucked in a breath. "One that you created yourself?"

"If I could cast it, I would have long ago," Severus said. "But my body is no longer my own. I have no hand to raise a wand, no voice to cast a spell. That's why I need you."

Harry jerked away. "No."

"You were chosen," the Witch said.

"By you."

"Call it irony or inevitability, but you're the only one who can do it," the Witch said. "Maladicta ardentur." His head slumped forward. "Do not worry," he said, his voice fading. "I'll be the one who dies this time. The curse has gone too deep. Your father should enjoy that…"

* * *

Harry woke up, the Witch's voice echoing in his ears. He picked up the book he was reading and, with a scream, threw it across the room.

* * *

Against Sirius's half-hearted protests, they did not, in fact, have bear for dinner.

They camped in a cave they had used as shelter once before. Their names were still there, carved into the rock by the entrance. Sirius smiled and ran his thumb over them. "Harry, come over here!"

Harry stood by the horses, his back turned to the cave. The black tower had all of his attention.

James sat by the fire, his eyes on his son's back. He tore a bite out of some of the dried meat they had left over. The food did nothing for the anger tensing his jaw muscles and souring in his stomach.

Remus kindly said nothing as he sat on his pallet and poked at the meager fire. Sirius slid down beside Remus and nudged him. With a sigh, Remus shuffled a bit to the side to give the bigger man some room.

Sirius threw his arm around Remus's shoulder and rested his head against Remus's. "What are the chances," he murmured into Remus's hair, "that Harry is bewitched?"

"What?" Remus said, his voice loud with shock.

James threw what was left of the dried meat into the fire and bolted to his feet.

Sirius jumped up and grabbed him by the upper arms stopping him. "James, calm down," he said softly, gently steering James deeper into the cave.

"How care you tell me to calm down," James hissed. He clawed at Sirius's hands. "Let go of me."

"So that you can spar with him again?" Sirius hissed back. "Forgot how well that went last time? You don't think I'm worried, too?"

"If that spell is one of his—"

"Then thank the gods that bastard finally managed doing something right for a change!" Sirius pinned James against the craggy wall. "That spell _works_. It's our key to stopping the Decay."

"He's been lying to me," James said. "Keeping things from me—"

"Boys should be allowed to keep secrets from their fathers."

"Not if it involves the bastard that killed his mother!"

Sirius covered James's mouth with his hand. "I feel exactly the same you do about him, I do," he whispered. "But Harry's been out there crying over a goddamn _bear_, and you never once thought, why? Or did you forget that Harry told you he was dying."

James went slack, the fight drained out of him. Sirius's hand slid away. "Do you think he's bewitched?" James said softly.

"I'm no good with that sort of thing," Sirius said. "But you know Harry. He has his mother's heart."

* * *

Harry spotted James walking towards him and shot to his feet. Already, Harry's shoulders pulled back as James drew closer. His red-rimmed eyes darted from James to the camp and back.

James took a deep breath and then another. He clenched his hands and looked down at the ground. He struggled to find the right words to start.

Harry started, instead. "When he gave me that spell," he said, his voice barely audible above the snorting of the horses and the whistling of the breeze. "He said that you would be happy. Because it will probably kill him."

"Harry…"

"And I tried everything I could," Harry said, his voice getting louder, "hoping that one little change will make sure he'll live." He looked away to hide the fresh tears filling his eyes. "But I don't know anything about spellwork. All I can do is wave my wand and say some words. And he's going to end up just like that bear, and I—" He wiped at his eyes.

James wanted to pull Harry into his arms and hold him tight, the same way he had when Harry was a small boy, stressed and overtired, frightened from a bad dream, or crying for the mother he never knew. "He won't end up like that bear."

Harry shook his head. "You didn't see him. Those… _vines_ were everywhere. They were growing from inside him."

"You've seen him," James said. Harry nodded. "The day you lost your broomstick."

"I didn't lose it," Harry said. "I hid it. After I went to the Wastes."

"And when did you plan to tell me that you went there?" James said. "After you fell to your death? After casting a spell he made, not knowing if it'll kill you? Or after he bewitched you into fixing the mistake _he_ made?"

"He didn't bewitch me," Harry said, his voice weak with faint conviction.

"Harry, the man is a duplicitous snake," James said. "Nothing he says or does benefits anyone but himself."

Harry scowled at the ground. "Good thing I know how to talk to snakes, then," he said under his breath. He froze.

"What?" James said.

"Harry!" Sinus shouted, waving a knife with a piece of hard cheese on the end. "Do you want cheese and dried pork or cheese and dried duck?"

"We are not done talking about this," James said.

Harry pulled away and climbed up to the cave. James rubbed at the stubble on his face and followed close behind.

* * *

_to be continued_


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you for reading this far. A bad mix of tiredness and self-doubt delayed this chapter a bit. Here it is, a week later than I had planned, but here all the same. There are probably a lot of mistakes. Last chapter had a lot of them. I'll do a better job at catching them.

There's one more chapter coming.

_This chapter_: They reach the black tower.

* * *

Seven months passed.

On a cool day in late summer, Harry trekked out into the woods to retrieve his broom. Bugs had taken residence in the tail, but he shook them out and took the broom for a short flight. He grinned as he skimmed over the tree canopy, his feet brushing the branches underneath him. For a few exhilarating moments, he felt weightless, but then he remembered what he had seen during his last ride and a heavy weight settled in his heart.

His thoughts never strayed far from the Witch of the Northern Wastes. Every detail of Severus's sleeping face, of the black tower and its dragon, were engraved perfectly in Harry's mind. He wanted to fly back, to cut down every vine and set Severus free, but that would amount to nothing without the counter-curse.

He had the words, yes, but a spell needed much more than a few words and a bit of magic. Without the wand motions to push them forward, the words would linger in the air, potent but without direction.

He needed to speak to Severus soon or deduce the wand motions on his own.

He spent countless hours in the castle's library, researching everything he could on spellcraft and mind magic. He had incredibly powerful magic, and the year he had spent building his broom had given his wandwork finesse and a delicate, precise feel. Breaking down the Witch's spell, however, was far beyond his skills as a mere adept, especially when all he had were the words.

He made even less progress with mind magic. Every night, he would practice the techniques suggested, but the magic eluded him. The books continuously pointed out that only those of a "certain temperament" could master it. Harry, apparently, didn't have the temperament for throwing his consciousness into another's.

But, he couldn't wait a year and a day for Severus to call on him. Harry gave up on learning mind magic and started researching communication spells instead.

* * *

As the weather turned colder, rumors of a strange blight began to spread through the castle. A Decay was destroying the Northern Wastes, reducing the land to ash. There was talk about it spreading southward, killing upland grasses and the occasional sheep. As winter settled in, the rumors grew, each passing traveler full of tales more fearful than the last.

No one knew the cause, but they all knew who to blame.

"I don't get it," Hermione said one night as they studied in the red drawing room. "How does no one know his name? I'm starting to think that he doesn't even exist. Or even if he's actually a man."

Harry looked up from the book he was reading. "The Witch, again?"

"If he's the one responsible for the Decay, we should at least know who he is," Hermione said, not for the first time. "We should fly out there ourselves, and get a look."

"I don't have a broom anymore, remember?" Harry said, looking down to hide the lie in his eyes. "And you hate flying."

"No, I don't," she said, fidgeting. She crossed her arms and scowled. "If only we had a name. If he really was a witch, we could probably find his name in the old ledgers, see what he specialized in. If he had any magical talent, he would have, at some point, come here," she reasoned.

"Yeah, probably," Harry said, burying his face further into his book.

"Don't you think it's weird that no one says his name?"

Harry shrugged. He felt his ears grow hot. "They say names have power."

Hermione scoffed. "Who are they? Names are just words, and words only have as much power as we allow them to have."

* * *

Communication from one mind to another took precision, power, and a "certain temperament" that Harry did not possess. Calling out to another life, on the other hand, was a possibility for him.

_Vocatium vivare_. A calling to the living self, a message to the other existing beyond. If he had a name and the power to cast it, Harry could hypothetically speak to Severus across the vast distance between them.

In the first week of spring, under the cover of night, Harry climbed up the Astronomer's Tower. Snow fell that night; the snowflakes drifted through the air, unhurried and unbothered by such things as calendars or urgency. It dusted Harry's black hair white.

He faced north and thought of the thorn-covered tower and its dragon, and the Witch sleeping within. He thought of his words flying over the forests and fields and the Wastes to whisper into Severus's ear, to touch the mind trapped within. He took a deep breath, and cast, the spell shimmering against the white snow. "_Vocatium vivare_. The words are not enough. Please still be there."

As the shimmering spell disappeared into the distance, he leaned against the cold stones, sudden exhaustion knocking him off his feet. When the spell reached the other, the books said, it was supposed to bounce back, to let him know that it had been received. That casting it hadn't been in vain. That Severus was still there, waiting.

Harry slid down to the floor. He fought against the exhaustion, but it was much too great. His wand slipped out of his hand, making no sound on the snow.

A warm breeze kissed Harry's cheek. It smelled of smoke and crushed flowers, and the sweetness of rot. Harry smiled and slowly, so very slowly, made his way back to bed.

* * *

That night, as he slept, Harry wandered into the Witch's jagged room. The room felt small, confining, lit with the grey light of twilight. Against the shadows of the walls stood the throne, its dark grey stone cradling Severus, nearly invisible in the gloom.

The Witch sat, his head bowed and body slumped, unaware of Harry's intrusion. The thorns covered his entire face now, the white skin hidden away.

Harry took hold of Severus's hands. They were cold and limp in his grasp. "Severus," he said, his voice swallowed by the darkness.

Severus exhaled, whatever words he was trying to say lost in the thorns covering his mouth.

Harry grabbed hold of the vines on either side of Severus's temples, biting back a cry as the thorns tore into his palms. Tears of pain filled his eyes as he ripped the vines off Severus, not stopping until every single thorn was pulled away. The crown dug deep into his hands, shredding his skin. His blood left smears on Severus's white face.

Severus's eyes opened, the exhaustion weighing down his eyelids. "Do you know how much it cost me to speak to you?"

Harry cupped Severus's face, coating the Witch's face with his blood. His skin felt like ice in Harry's hot hands. "You never taught me the spell," he said. "Only the words."

"I heard your voice in the wind," Severus said. His eyes fell closed. "Vocatium vivare, was it?" He shook his head to the side. "Too exhausting. Casting it in a lake would have been better." He nuzzled Harry's hand. "I have an affinity with water, did you know? You, I think, are of fire…your hands are so warm…"

"Severus, please, focus!" He lifted the Witch's head, straightening it out of its slump. "Maladicta ardentur! What are the wand movements?"

Severus's eyes opened with great effort. He stared, unfocused, at Harry's face for a long moment. "The spell," he said as if from far away. He licked his lips. "The wand movements. Yes…" His hand twitched. "Lift my hand up," he said. "I don't think I have the energy for it."

Harry took Severus's right hand with both of his.

"Like a wand, yes," Severus said. His forefinger stretched out and pointed to the ceiling. It made a shallow, circular motion. "You have give the air a stir, just once, nice and easy." Harry moved Severus's hand, mimicking the motion. "Wider… yes. One complete circle, and then aim it." Severus pulled their joined hands to himself and rested them against his chest. "Right here."

"Severus," Harry said, not letting go. "I thought I could fix the spell, to make sure no one dies when—"

"The spell doesn't need to be fixed," Severus said, his last bit of strength sharpening his tone. "It's perfectly made for what it needs to do." His eyes focused on Harry's face. "You're afraid."

"I'm not," Harry said, the lie quick on his lips. Fresh tears fell.

"You have every right to be afraid," Severus said. He entwined his fingers with Harry's. "To not trust me. But you'll survive casting it. I swear."

"I don't want you to die, either," Harry said.

The faintest smile formed on Severus's face. Tiny thorns had started to protrude from his brow, a new crown growing to replace the one Harry had torn away. "I'll be fine," he said, and Harry knew, deep in his soul, that Severus was lying.

Harry took hold of Severus's face and kissed him, closed-mouth and full of sorrow.

* * *

Reaching out to Severus had taken its toll on Harry. He had not thought that spell would take all of his strength, but it had. A fever, taking advantage of his weakened condition, took hold. For three days, he burned and shivered in turn, unable to rise from his bed. He heard voices in his delirium, and felt calloused hands pressed cool cloths against his brow.

In the dead of night, after the fever broke and the rest of the castle slept, Harry pushed himself out of bed, wiped the last of the sickness's sweat off his brow, and dressed for the long, cold ride to the Wastes. The climb up to the Astronomer's Tower was draining, but he held his broom close to his body, leaned against the walls, and kept moving.

Severus was waiting for him.

Harry reached the top, ignored the tremble in his limbs, and stepped out only to stop cold.

"Good evening, Harry," Lord Dumbledore said, a lit shuttered lantern in one hand. "Lovely night, isn't it. Bit cold, but clear. Almost perfect for flying."

"Um," Harry managed, his mind scrambling.

"But you look ready to collapse," Dumbledore said. "Come, let's go inside and find ourselves a fire to warm us."

"I can't," Harry said. He clutched his broom tight with both hands. "I have to go."

"To the Wastes?" Dumbledore said. "You won't get far. You're still quite ill and in no state to help Severus. Frankly, it'd be a miracle if you don't fall off that broom on your way there."

"How—"

"I heard his voice in the wind," Dumbledore said. "Very faintly. Old age has blessed me with many things, including a weak bladder. I doubt anyone else was awake at the time to hear it. When I heard you had fallen ill the next morning, it didn't take me much time to put the pieces together. Frankly, I expected for you to wait at least another night, but I know better than to underestimate the eagerness of youth."

"I have to go," Harry said. "The curse has gotten worse, I made the curse worse for him—"

"And now it is your duty to break a curse that he had placed upon himself?"

"He didn't do it to himself. Someone else created it."

"And he has convinced you that you're the only one that can help him, correct?"

"He didn't convince me," Harry said, undeterred. "But I'm the only one that can—"

"Rescue him from his own foolishness?" Dumbledore said.

"He's the only one holding the Decay back."

"After trying to harness its power for himself."

"You don't know that."

"But I know Severus Snape," Dumbledore said, his tone affable even as his words sought to tear through Harry's resolve. "I've known him since he was a small boy, poor and hungry in more ways than one. He has only cared about two things in his life. One, he has killed, and the other is now killing him."

"I'm still going," Harry said.

Dumbledore stepped to the side. "Then, go."

Harry hesitated before moving away from the lord. He mounted the broom, took a deep breath, and stayed exactly where he stood, with a broom between his legs and his feet on the stone.

"As I expected," Dumbledore said. "Calling on Severus that night took all your magical energy. I hardly think you can light a candle in the state you're in."

Harry's horror must have been clear on his face. Dumbledore's expression softened. "If you rest and let your body recover, and not exert yourself too much, I'm certain your magic will return to you."

"How long will that take?"

"A couple of weeks. Maybe three," Dumbledore said. He took the broom from Harry. With a wiggle of his fingers, the broom shrunk down to about 2 inches in length, no larger than his thumb. "And when it does," he said as he placed the broom in Harry's palm and curled Harry's fingers over it, giving his hand a pat, "you'll be able to take to the skies once more."

Harry stared down at his shrunken broom.

"Your father will be here within a day or two," Dumbledore said. "He and Sirius have been talking about heading into the Northern Wastes and taking care of the problem themselves. They share a history with Severus, as I'm sure you know." He lifted the shutters on the lantern, shining light into Harry's eyes. "I'll soon have no other choice than to send them, but I dislike their plan." He watched Harry from over the rim of his glasses. "If you have a better one…?"

* * *

The uplands grew sparser, colder, as they drew closer to the Wastes. Yellowed grasses lined the road. Black, thorny vines grew at the banks of the thin streams. The black tower loomed ahead, the wreath of thorns at this base becoming more and more visible with each passing mile.

They took shelter in an abandoned hut overlooking the road. The wind had taken the roof and three of the walls long ago, leaving only the back wall standing. Sirius and Harry watched the horses as they wandered across the field and fed on the last of the green grass.

"If we push the horses," James said as he cleaned out the stone fire pit in the center of the hut. "we could reach the tower within a day."

"I doubt the horses are going to like that," Remus said. "The Wastes make for a dangerous journey, even without the Decay." He stacked a bit of firewood and peat by James's side. "It would be foolish to try to rush our way through."

"Well, a man can hope," James said. "The sooner we end this, the sooner that bastard is no longer in Harry's head."

Remus squatted on the other side of the fire pit. "Are you going to talk to him again? Before we go into the Wastes?"

James let out a sigh. He looked down at his hands. "I don't know if I can," he said softly. "Just the thought of Harry defending that man, it makes my blood boil. He won't listen to reason."

"Maybe a different approach," Remus said. "Instead of acting like an angry father, you could act more like a mild, nonjudgemental, sympathetic uncle."

"You mean, act more like you."

Remus shrugged. "It might keep the yelling down."

"You could talk to him for me," James said.

"And allow you to miss the opportunity to bond with your wayward son? Absolutely not," Remus said.

"Sadist," James said, not cruelly. He got to his feet with a groan; his muscles had grown weary of the days spent on horseback. "Think you can make the tea on your own?"

"When have I ever not?" Remus said as James searched for Harry among the horses. Sirius, sensing James's eyes on him, looked up and gestured. Clear on the other side of the hut, on top of a rock nearly as high as he was tall, stood Harry, with his back to the horses and his eyes on the wretched tower. He was muttering something under his breath, the words inaudible.

James took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before letting them slump. Mild, nonjudgemental, sympathetic. He held the image of Remus at his most inoffensive clear in his mind and tried to pull his muscles into a working facsimile.

He swore under his breath to make himself feel a bit better.

"Harry," James said.

Harry started, losing his balance for a moment before righting himself. He looked down at James with guilt in his eyes.

"Were you trying to call him again?" James said. He tried to keep the bite out of his words, but some of his anger came through, hard as glass and just as sharp.

"No," Harry said, his hackles rising.

"Why not?" James said, the mild question still too hard. "Come down from there."

Harry tensed up. He dropped down the far side of the rock, keeping his distance. "It takes too much out of me," he said. "I… I need all the strength I have for when I go inside the tower."

"For when _we_ go inside the tower." James noticed the words Harry did not want to say, the secrets he was still keeping. "You are not going into the tower alone."

"There's no reason for anyone to go inside with me," Harry said.

"There's no reason for you to go alone, either," James said, "You are—" He swallowed down "my son", the words too hot with anger, and tried again. "We came all this way together and we finish this together. That's the way it is when Sirius and I go on campaign, and that's the way it's going to be now, too. Because we are a team."

"A team," Harry said. "Right."

"Harry," James took a step to close the distance between them. "You are my son. I can't let you go off and face whatever is in that tower on your own."

"The only thing in that tower is Severus, sleeping."

"You will _not_ say that monster's name," James said, quick and hot.

"Stop calling him a monster," Harry said. His hands clenched at his sides. "Why do you want to come, really? To stab him after I cast the spell? Make sure that he's dead?"

James tried to rein in his anger. "There are more dangers in that tower than that… man," he said. "Or did you forget the vines? The dragon?"

"They weren't a problem before," Harry said.

"And what makes you think they won't be a problem now?" James said. He gritted his teeth. "In the morning, you are going to ride to Dalcolm and send a message to Lord Dumbledore on our progress."

"What? No!"

"The rest of us will press on into the Wastes," James said.

"This is _my_ campaign!" Harry said. "I'm the one who has to cast the spell."

"Remus is fully capable of casting it," James said. "And he hasn't been bewitched into it."

"I haven't been bewitched!" Harry said, his voice echoing across the fields. "Just because I don't want him to die doesn't mean I've been bewitched! Or manipulated! Or tricked, or whatever else you might think! Lord Dumbledore asked you to guide me here—"

"Lord Dumbledore doesn't know everything that is going on—"

"He knows more than you!" Harry said. "I'm going to the Wastes tomorrow. With you, without you, I don't care! This is something I _have_ to do and you can't stop me! I'll—I'll _fly_ if I have to!"

Harry stormed off in the direction of the tower.

"Harry Potter, come back here!" James yelled after him. "We are not done talking!" Harry didn't look back.

"The sympathetic uncle routine didn't work?" Sirius said, ambling up to James. Remus studiously did not look in their direction as he watered the horses.

"Think you can do better?" James said.

"No," Sirius said. "But I wouldn't have ordered him to Dalcolm, either." He crossed his arms and stared out at the wildness beyond. "He's stubborn, and he's right. This is his mission to complete."

"But what if he can't?" James said. "Or if that bastard is just luring us into a trap?"

"Harry said he was there before, didn't he?"

"That doesn't mean that there's no trap now."

* * *

The night before they crossed into the Wastes, a light snow had fallen, covering the barren land with a thin, icy sheet of white. Clouds hung low to the ground, blurring the line between earth and sky. The black tower stood stark, massive and relentless as it reached for the heavens.

They rode in a line, cautious and quiet. Sirius's hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword, but no monster leapt out of the snow or howled across the dead bogs. The hooves of their horses crunched the snow underfoot and left grey hoof prints in their wake.

"There really is nothing here," James said, his voice soft as if afraid to disturb the silent air. "No birds, no insects."

"I think I spotted a beast," Sirius said, gesturing at a snow-frosted mound in the distance. As they drew closer, they saw it was the remains of a troll, its giant body twisted in the thorny vines. Sirius got off his horse and gave the vines a tap with his sword, knocking some of the snow away for a closer look.

"By the smell, it must have been dead for at least a week," Remus said.

"Doesn't smell that much different from a live troll to me," Sirius said, "so I'll take your word for it."

James leaned forward on the pommel of his saddle. The tower was still a day's ride away, and the way looked treacherous. Sharp, black thorns gathered in the shadows of the outcroppings, sheltered from the wind. The dry bogs were wreathed with vines. "Those are all dead bodies?" he said, pointing at the strange mounds between them and the black tower. Scraps of plum-colored livery fluttered in the wind, the fabric caught on the thorns.

"The Lord Minister's men," Remus said. "But all that's left of them are their weapons and armor. Even their bones are gone." He gave James a tight smile. "We'll have to be careful if we don't want to end up like them."

"I don't know how careful you expect us to be," James said.

"Let's see if I can't melt some of this snow out of our path," Remus said. He nudged his horse a few steps forward and, with a flick of his wand, blasted a gust of warm air towards the black tower. The magic wind melted the snow in their path, exposing the dead grasses and grey earth. Black vines crisscrossed the ground, their thorns clawing at anything within reach.

"This is bad," Sirius said. "If there's more of those vines, we'll have to leave the horses behind. They're spooked as it is. Imagine what happens when one of them steps on those infernal thorns. Another kilometer, maybe two, and we'll have to go on foot."

"I doubt we can cross this on foot," James said. "But turning back isn't exactly the best option, either."

"Maybe Harry and I can lead the way, clear the path with that spell of his?" Remus said, tucking his wand back into its pocket.

"You sure you want to go around messing with one of that bastard's spells?" Sirius said.

"It seems perfectly safe to use," Remus said. "Although your concern for my safety is rather touching."

"We'll hold off on the magic until the vines get too thick to cross without it," James said. He glanced about. Harry's horse shuffled riderless behind them, its walk placid and unburdened. Fear stirred inside him. "Where's Harry?"

Sirius nodded to the side. "Draining the little man," he said.

Harry stood some thirty feet away, his back to them. His hands were clasped. His eyes were fixed on the black tower.

James scowled. Anger pushed through, casting the fear to one side. "He needs to stop wandering off on his own," he muttered, getting off his horse and throwing Sirius the reins. "Especially now."

"No sparring," Sirius said, but James ignored him.

He stormed towards Harry, his footfalls heavy as he crunched his way across the snow.

Harry looked down at his clasped hands. "Please," he said, his voice a soft whisper. "Please."

Without warning, a broom burst out of Harry's clasped hands, startling James. Harry let out a relieved laugh and gripped the broom with both hands. "Finally," he said and straddled the broom.

James's body worked faster than his mind. He ran the last ten feet between them and jumped, grabbing hold of Harry as the broom shot into the sky.

They careened through the air, screaming. James clung to his son like a monkey, wrapping his limbs around Harry and digging his nails in. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Da, I can't see!" Harry said over the wind. "You're pulling my hair!"

"Set us down!"

"You wanted to come to the tower with me!"

"Not this way!"

Harry regained control of the broom and brought them relatively upright. James dared a peek at the ground. He shut his eyes and hid his face against Harry's back. "Have you lost your mind?!"

"This is the best way to get to the tower," Harry said. "Look, we're nearly there."

James lifted his head. The black tower was indeed within reach. He could almost make out every individual vine entwined around it. At the base of the tower, a giant dragon, with iridescent black hide and flames in his mouth, rose from its nest and unfurled its wings. Its teeth were as long as James's arm. "That's a magical construct?" he said.

"It's Severus," Harry said. "It won't hurt us."

"Don't be so sure," James said. He thought about moving his hand towards his sword, but the fear of losing his grip and falling to a thorny death overwhelmed his better judgement. "Things could have changed."

As they flew closer, the dragon's eyes narrowed to slits. It roared, making the broom shake underneath them.

"It's okay," Harry said in a loud, clear voice. He slowly guided the broom towards the dragon. "I'm here."

James tightened his grip on Harry. "Don't," he whispered.

The dragon roared again, blasting fire into the air above their heads.

"It's okay," Harry said again. He extended a shaky hand towards the dragon. They were dangerously close to that mouth full of teeth and flames. "I came back. I know what to do now."

The dragon glared at Harry's hand and then at James. It was an evil look, one that reminded James of his youth, of all the times he had clashed with the bastard. "Is that… him?"

"It's okay," Harry said a third time. His hand brushed against the dragon's snout. He gasped. He reached out with both hands and ran them over the dragon's hide. He rested his forehead against the snout and let out a laugh.

"Harry," James said, a different fear rising inside him.

"You see?" Harry said, pulling away. "It's not going to hurt us."

The look in the dragon's eyes said something else entirely. _I'd eat you if Harry wasn't here_, it seemed to say. James glared back with just as much venom.

With one last snort, the dragon flew back towards the tower. It dove teeth and claws first at the vines. It ripped at them, tearing them away to reach the stone trapped inside.

"There!" Harry said, pointing at a pinhole gap in the tower.

"We're flying in there?!"

"As soon as it's wide enough," Harry said.

The dragon roared as it pulled the vines apart. Harry flattened his body against the broom handle, pulling James down with him. James ducked his head, covering his face with Harry's back, and swallowed a scream as they flew under the dragon's wings and through a black ring of thorns into darkness.

They crashed and tumbled into a dark room. James rolled onto the floor, crying out as thousands of thorns pricked and stabbed him. He crashed against a wall and let out a soft groan.

The dragon crawled into the room after them, its gigantic body now no larger than a dog's. Its hide glowed in the pitch darkness, the light tracing the edges of the room. It hopped up onto a thorn-covered bed. The flames in its mouth shone on a squirming, heaving pile of vines.

"Da?" Harry said somewhere nearby. He was barely visible in the glow. "Are you alright?"

"The Decay, first," James said. He moved, gasping as the thorns dug in deep. "Deal with that first."

Harry crawled to his feet. He whimpered with each step. He stopped beside the bed and stared at the bastard's face for a long time. He suck in a breath and raised his wand.

"_Maladicta ardentur!_"

* * *

Sirius shouted as James and Harry flew towards the tower. "He has a broom!?"

"He has a broom," Remus said.

"Why he didn't tell us he has a broom!?"

"I think the better question is, how are we supposed to follow them?" Remus said. He took out his wand. "_Maladicta ardentur!_" He aimed at the vines on the ground. The spell coursed over the vines, spreading from one to the other, like white water flowing into riverbeds long dry. The blighted plants glowed bright before exploding into shards of light.

Sirius let out a low whistle. "That's nearly a whole kilometer," he said.

"Yes," Remus said. He slumped and began to slide sideways on his saddle. Sirius caught him before he fell off his horse. "That took more energy than I thought," he said sheepishly, as he rested his weight on Sirius.

"Not surprising," Sirius said. "Look how much land you cleared."

"I didn't mean to," Remus said. He pushed himself back up. Sirius held him steady with a hand on his arm. "But the spell kept trying to take more of my magic, to destroy as many of the vines as it could."

Sirius drew back a bit, his hand never leaving. "That's..."

Remus nodded. "We have to get to the tower and stop Harry before it's too late," he said.

They grabbed the reins of Harry's and James's horses. Even knowing how futile it might be, they raced towards the black tower, desperation burning in their blood. They barely crossed the kilometer Remus had cleared when a bright, golden light began to engulf the tower.

"Oh, no," Remus said.

The golden light raced up to the top, burning away the low clouds. It snaked through the thorn bushes at the base and crackled across the Wastes, lighting every single black vine from within.

They held their breath as the tower exploded. The clouds parted, leaving a perfectly circular patch of blue sky above the black tower. The shards of light sparkled through the air like golden snowflakes, letting the breezes push them where they may and melting away to nothing when they land.

Sirius dug his heels into his horse and galloped towards the squat little stone tower, Remus racing close behind.


End file.
